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- Стр. 927/1581
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She
put
her
kerosene
lamp
aside
and
sat
in
her
cabin
after
dark
by
the
light
of
a
candle
,
listening
to
the
music
of
a
small
portable
radio
.
She
hunted
for
symphony
concerts
and
twisted
the
dial
rapidly
past
whenever
she
caught
the
raucous
syllables
of
a
news
broadcast
;
she
did
not
want
any
news
from
the
city
.
Don
’
t
think
of
Taggart
Transcontinental
—
she
had
told
herself
on
her
first
night
in
the
cabin
—
don
’
t
think
of
it
until
you
’
re
able
to
hear
the
words
as
if
they
were
"
Atlantic
Southern
"
or
"
Associated
Steel
,
"
But
the
weeks
passed
and
no
scar
would
grow
over
the
wound
.
It
seemed
to
her
as
if
she
were
fighting
the
unpredictable
cruelty
of
her
own
mind
.
She
would
lie
in
bed
,
drifting
off
to
sleep
—
then
find
herself
suddenly
thinking
that
the
conveyor
belt
was
worn
at
the
coaling
station
at
Willow
Bend
,
Indiana
,
she
had
seen
it
from
the
window
of
her
car
on
her
last
trip
,
she
must
tell
them
to
replace
it
or
they
—
and
then
she
would
be
sitting
up
in
bed
,
crying
,
Stop
it
!
—
and
stopping
it
,
but
remaining
awake
for
the
rest
of
that
night
.
She
would
sit
at
the
door
of
the
cabin
at
sunset
and
watch
the
motion
of
the
leaves
growing
still
in
the
twilight
—
then
she
would
see
the
sparks
of
the
fireflies
rising
from
the
grass
,
flashing
on
and
off
in
every
darkening
corner
,
flashing
slowly
,
as
if
holding
one
moment
’
s
warning
—
they
were
like
the
lights
of
signals
winking
at
night
over
the
track
of
a
—
Stop
it
!
It
was
the
times
when
she
could
not
stop
it
that
she
dreaded
,
the
times
when
,
unable
to
stand
up
—
as
in
physical
pain
,
with
no
limit
to
divide
it
from
the
pain
of
her
mind
—
she
would
fall
down
on
the
floor
of
the
cabin
or
on
the
earth
of
the
woods
and
sit
still
,
with
her
face
pressed
to
a
chair
or
a
rock
,
and
fight
not
to
let
herself
scream
aloud
,
while
they
were
suddenly
as
close
to
her
and
as
real
as
the
body
of
a
lover
:
the
two
lines
of
rail
going
off
to
a
single
point
in
the
distance
—
the
front
of
an
engine
cutting
space
apart
by
means
of
the
letters
TT
—
the
sound
of
the
wheels
clicking
in
accented
rhythm
under
the
floor
of
her
car
—
the
statue
of
Nat
Taggart
in
the
concourse
of
the
Terminal
.
Fighting
not
to
know
them
,
not
to
feel
them
,
her
body
rigid
but
for
the
grinding
motion
of
her
face
against
her
arm
,
she
would
draw
whatever
power
over
her
consciousness
still
remained
to
her
into
the
soundless
,
toneless
repetition
of
the
words
:
Get
it
over
with
.
There
were
long
stretches
of
calm
,
when
she
was
able
to
face
her
problem
with
the
dispassionate
clarity
of
weighing
a
problem
in
engineering
.
But
she
could
find
no
answer
.
She
knew
that
her
desperate
longing
for
the
railroad
would
vanish
,
were
she
to
convince
herself
that
it
was
impossible
or
improper
.
But
the
longing
came
from
the
certainty
that
the
truth
and
the
right
were
hers
—
that
the
enemy
was
the
irrational
and
the
unreal
—
that
she
could
not
set
herself
another
goal
or
summon
the
love
to
achieve
it
,
while
her
rightful
achievement
had
been
lost
,
not
to
some
superior
power
,
but
to
a
loathsome
evil
that
conquered
by
means
of
impotence
.
She
could
renounce
the
railroad
,
she
thought
;
she
could
find
contentment
here
,
in
this
forest
;
but
she
would
build
the
path
,
then
reach
the
road
below
,
then
rebuild
the
road
—
and
then
she
would
reach
the
storekeeper
of
Woodstock
and
that
would
be
the
end
,
and
the
empty
white
face
staring
at
the
universe
in
stagnant
apathy
would
be
the
limit
placed
on
her
effort
.
Why
?
—
she
heard
herself
screaming
aloud
.
There
was
no
answer
.
Then
stay
here
until
you
answer
it
,
she
thought
.
You
have
no
place
to
go
,
you
can
’
t
move
,
you
can
’
t
start
grading
a
right
-
of
-
way
until
.
.
.
until
you
know
enough
to
choose
a
terminal
.
There
were
long
,
silent
evenings
when
the
emotion
that
made
her
sit
still
and
look
at
the
unattainable
distance
beyond
the
fading
light
to
the
south
,
was
loneliness
for
Hank
Rearden
.
She
wanted
the
sight
of
his
unyielding
face
,
the
confident
face
looking
at
her
with
the
hint
of
a
smile
.
But
she
knew
that
she
could
not
see
him
until
her
battle
was
won
.
